


oh, be forever mine (you and i)

by hellstrider



Series: Into You [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, M/M, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Siren!Jaskier, The black eyes oof, Witcher!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: this is the life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into You [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596667
Comments: 11
Kudos: 492





	oh, be forever mine (you and i)

**Author's Note:**

> another reupload.
> 
> title from knew better/forever boy by ariana grande
> 
> tumblr: thebardjaskier

_‘This is the life, you know,_

_Sitting in hospitals,_

_Being terrified out of your skin at four in the morning.’_

Yennefer’s words keep playing through his head on repeat.

And,

The car hasn’t fully stopped moving before Jaskier’s shoving the back door open, and he spills out onto the slick street as Kiera shouts his name, as his driver swears violently and one of his security guards scrambles to follow the Siren,

And it’s _nine at night,_ is fucking _raining_ in Chelsea, and Jaskier had been on set in Kensington when the _call_ came - the _horrible_ , dreaded,

_“Sir, there’s been an incident.”_

And,

Now,

_See,_

They’d been _quick_ to reassure him that -

 _“He’s alive_ ,” but,

 _“There’s been an incident_ ,” and,

 _“He’s refusing a hospital_ ,” so,

 _“You should probably come down_ ,” and,

There’s a whole _army_ of mouth breathers crowding the street in front of their building, gawking at the fleet of Scotland Yard patrol cabs and not one but _two_ fucking _ambulances_ ,

And Jaskier is shoving through the crowd - rather unkindly - as his heartbeat falls into the cadence of _Geralt, Geralt, Geralt,_

Until he’s tumbling out from the _armada_ of onlookers and -

“Oh, _Jesus_ ,” the Siren manages, nearly collapsing to the rain-slick asphalt in sheer relief, _because there’s_ \- there’s _Geralt_ , nostrils flaring _wide_ as Jaskier trips out from the throng of onlookers, as his scent hits the Witcher in _full force,_ and,

Geralt pushes away from the end of the ambulance he’s been cornered against by several older, far more weathered EMT’s, but he still sends a few of the more _skittish_ techs scattering when he surges upright, and Jaskier _gets_ it, the _panic_ , he _does_ , because the Witcher is -

Now _, the thing is,_

Geralt truly is a sight to behold _normally_ , but right now -

_Well,_

See,

_Right now,_

He’s - he’s _shirtless_ , is wearing _nothing_ but a pair of ratty old sweats, and his silver hair is a fucking _mess_ , is damp with sweat and _blood_ , the same blood that oozes from the narrow flesh wound on his chest, the wound that carries across his shoulder, and his _eyes_ -

Gods,

His eyes are still burning _black_ with Cat, 

Dark veins splaying out like tendrils of ink over his cheekbones, across his brow,

And he looks borderline _feral_ as he surges up from the end of the ambulance, as he sends several young-faced EMT’s _scattering_ , and Jaskier’s entire fucking world _narrows_ as he rushes across the rain-slick street,

As he utters a _pained_ , clenching, “ _Geralt_ , oh, my _God_ ,” and catches Geralt’s face between his _shaking_ hands, presses _frantic_ kisses over Geralt’s jaw, up across his cheek, 

Until Geralt burrs out a growling, “ _little lark_ ,” and Jaskier practically _melts_ into the kiss Geralt demands with a rattled breath, turns to _complete_ and utter _mush_ against Geralt as the Witcher’s _greedy_ tongue rolls into his mouth,

As the Witcher shoves his hands _right_ up under Jaskier’s shirt in front of the entire sea of onlookers, and _he’s still_ \- he’s still wearing the shit from the _photoshoot_ , because as _soon_ as the call had come, he hadn’t fucking _paused_ to take it all _off,_

And Geralt’s eyes are _entirely fucking black_ as he slides calloused palms over the _horribly expensive_ satin and lace that hugs Jaskier’s waist beneath his t-shirt - a t-shirt that _absolutely_ still smells like _Geralt_ , like clove and vanilla and _sweat_ ,

And Geralt is _bleeding_ and he’s hopped up on _Cat_ and he’s doing that thing, that thing where he keeps fucking _growling_ without knowing he is and Jaskier is _distressingly hard_ in his jeans - _and the satin things underneath_ \- as the Witcher pulls him _impossibly_ close in the middle of the _goddamn street_ and kisses him like they’re tangled up in bed, all _tongue_ and _heat_ , all _need_ and _possessive_ , all-consuming _want_ ,

“What _happened_ ,” Jaskier manages as Geralt turns them smoothly and starts to walk the Siren back towards their building, and his security team is making itself useful as it swarms around them, blocking them partially from view as Geralt catches Jaskier up against his chest and mouths at his jaw,

“Vampires I put down had friends,” Geralt mutters, deep voice shooting _right_ to Jaskier’s - “decided to break in,”

“ _Jesus_ , do we - oh, _fuck_ \- do we need to _move_?”

“Probably,”

“Tomorrow?”

 _“Tonight,_ ”

“After - Geralt, _fuck_ , people can _see_ us -”

“We’ll get some things,”

“Just - _Christ_ , get us _inside_ , Witcher,” and,

More than one bullheaded guard tries to bully their way into the elevator with them both, but Jaskier lets the sea come over his tongue as he utters a sideways “ _stay_ ,” and they all go _glassy-eyed,_ go _still_ as doors slide shut, cutting off the ruckus of the sirens and the clamor of the crowds, 

And Geralt pins Jaskier up against the wall with practiced ease as the Siren thumbs over the blackened veins under his eyes and wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist, and though the Witcher is _thrumming_ with a _violent_ energy, his hands are so, _so_ gentle when they frame Jaskier’s waist, the waist that’s _all_ wrapped up in _soft-as-sin_ satin and lace,

But while his hands are _gentle_ , his kiss is _anything_ but; it’s the sort of kiss that _demands_ all the air from Jaskier’s lungs, the kind of kiss that bends the knee to _promise_ that Jaskier won’t be walking straight for fucking _days_ , the kind of kiss that has Jaskier _grinding_ into Geralt’s stomach, the kind of kiss that has him _drooling_ , a bit, _as,_

Geralt’s hands slide up over his heaving ribs, catch the edge of the fabric wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, _and then_ \- and then the Witcher’s thumbing at his pierced nipples and a keen _catches_ and _shatters_ in Jaskier’s throat, breaks in _two_ as Geralt starts to bite down his pulse,

“Geralt - _fuck_ , darling, _I’m_ \- I’m not going to last much _longer_ if you keep at it like this,”

“ _Mm_ ,” and the sound shakes Jaskier to the fucking _core_ , has his poor, aching cock _pulsing_ as Geralt slides a hand between them, and the damned elevator doors slide open as Geralt works Jaskier’s belt loose, “ _good_ ,”

And how the _fuck_ they make it to the flat, Jaskier doesn’t _know_ ,

But it’s a fucking _wreck_ , their flat is - it’s all overturned furniture and broken glass, is blood across the floor and tattered drapes, but Geralt is _whole_ , is _alive_ , and Jaskier ignores the _ruin_ of their home in favor of carding his fingers through the Witcher’s damp silver hair as Geralt bee-lines for their bedroom,

Thankfully _untouched_ ,

And Geralt’s eyes are _black_ as the velvet night when Jaskier leans back to meet them, but even as Geralt burrs, “ _Jaskier_ ,” with a hesitance lacing his deep voice, Jaskier murmurs, “you’re _so_ damn gorgeous, you know that?” _and_ ,

Geralt’s _thrumming_ with a _violent_ energy,

An energy Jaskier wants to _taste_ , so,

He strips out of the t-shirt that smells like Geralt,

Watches with a _burning_ gut as the Witcher’s nostrils flare again when he takes in the sight of the shimmering golden satin wrapped _tight_ around the Siren’s _lithe_ waist,

And Jaskier bites his lip as he pulls his belt loose, as he pops the button his jeans, 

As he languidly rolls his hips and slides his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, lifting one brow, _and_ ,

“Do you want me to _beg_?” he purrs, nosing over the blackened veins on Geralt’s cheekbone as the Witcher slides on his knees over the end of the mattress, Jaskier still balanced in his arms, “I _can_ ,” and,

“Do you need me to tell you what _I want,_ Geralt?” and,

“I can _feel_ how much _you_ want me, I know you want to see the rest,” and,

“I _want_ you see it,”

And,

Geralt’s nose curls like he’s chewing through his own raw lust as he bears Jaskier down to their bed, as he parts his lips to pant, quiet and soft, against the soft skin of Jaskier’s throat,

And,

Everything goes _hazy_ when Geralt slides his hands down the firm, shimmering line of Jaskier’s waist to catch the hem of his jeans, 

As,

Jaskier _moans_ Geralt’s name with the sea on his tongue, and,

Geralt is _thrumming_ with a _violent_ energy that Jaskier wants to _choke on_ as he peels the Siren out of his skin-tight jeans to reveal -

Golden panties to match the corset hugging the Siren’s waist, panties with a zipper _right_ down the front,

And,

There are no less than five ribbons running down each of his legs, connecting the corset to thick bands of satin hugging his thighs, and from the golden bands are thinner ribbons that hold up his sleek, over-the-knee tights,

And it’s _all_ ribbon and pale lace and paper-thin, mouth-melting satin, 

Mouth-melting satin as _gold_ as Geralt’s eyes _usually_ are,

_Which -_

Had been the _entire point_ of the photoshoot,

And Jaskier’s still wearing _all_ his rings,

Still has all his _delicate_ , golden chains looping around his throat,

And Geralt rears back to drink it all in as soon as Jaskier is nothing but shimmering gold beneath him, black eyes impossibly _bright_ as they sweep over Jaskier, as his nose furls and a muscle ticks in the Witcher’s jaw, and Jaskier slowly sits up as the Witcher looms over him on his knees,

Sits up and slides his hands over Geralt’s bare waist, nuzzles into the Witcher’s palm when he ghosts his fingertips over Jaskier’s jaw, catches his thumb between his teeth when Geralt tries to trace his lips,

“You’re _shaking_ , wolf,” Jaskier murmurs against his fingers, and he kisses down Geralt’s forearm before he noses over his chest, careful to avoid the shallow wound gouging up over his shoulder,

“Jaskier -”

 _“Mhm_ ,”

“I want,”

And Jaskier tilts his head,

Looks up at Geralt through his lashes, 

As the Witcher’s nose twitches and his black eyes seem to lance through to the _core_ of him,

And Geralt catches Jaskier’s chin in one hand,

Thumbs over his lips until they’re parting, until Jaskier’s letting his tongue unfurl, _and_ ,

“Say it,” Geralt burrs, and he’s on his knees at the end of their bed as Jaskier sits obediently before him, _all_ wrapped up in golden satin the color of his eyes when they’re not _burning_ with Cat, 

“Say _what?”_ Jaskier croons, even though he _knows_ , knows _exactly_ what Geralt wants to hear, and the mere thought of uttering it has his cock weeping in the confines of his zippered panties, has his heart lodging up in his throat, the throat he needs to be _feeling_ Geralt in as _soon_ as he _possibly can,_

And the Witcher’s brow arches then, 

As he drags his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip, pulls it down, and Jaskier’s heart is a wild, bucking thing in his chest as he opens his mouth and tips his head back, as Geralt slides his free hand over the front of his throat, as the Witcher thrums with a tender violence Jaskier wants leaving him _breathless_ ,

And,

“Be _good_ ,” Geralt murmurs, and it’s _so_ gentle, is _always_ so gentle, 

But Jaskier thinks it makes it all the more _brutal_ , that gentleness, because he knows how much Geralt _means_ it, when he utters a command with such softness, 

And Geralt has a wound on his chest, a wound that lances over his shoulder, and his eyes are _black_ and Jaskier thinks he might’ve lost about ten years off his life when the call came, when he heard ‘ _sir, there’s been an incident_ ’, 

Because the fucking higher vampires he’d almost lost Geralt to a year ago apparently had _friends_ , and _those friends_ had decided to come and attack the Witcher in his _own goddamn flat,_

And Geralt is _thrumming_ with a _violent_ energy Jaskier wants to _taste_ , 

Smells of _blood_ and _magic_ and the cinnamon-licorice _sweetness_ of the Cat burning through his veins,

And his eyes are _black_ and his touch is _so_ brutally _tender_ and Jaskier _knows_ he wants nothing more than to paint the mark of his _possession_ over the one thing he knows Geralt could _never stand to lose,_

So,

“I’ll be _good_ ,” he murmurs, and Geralt’s brow lifts as he slides a hand down, sinks it into his sweats, and Jaskier’s cock _aches_ as - “I’ll be _so_ good, daddy, I promise,” 

And,

He watches, _utterly ensnared,_ as Geralt slides the sweats down just enough, as he thumbs over the glistening head of his fat cock, gathers up the pre there,

“The things I want to do to you,” he murmurs almost absently _as he_ \- as he _brings his thumb to Jaskier’s lips,_ the thumb _coated_ in pre, and Jaskier is _immediately_ licking over it, is licking up the salty, musky pre without even being _asked_ until Geralt presses his thumb down over his tongue,

And he’s harder than he thinks he’s _ever_ fucking been as the Witcher slides his sweats down, as he lets his thick cock drop to hang heavily between his thighs, and Jaskier can - Jaskier can _smell_ him, smells the _heat_ of his skin, the musk of his sweat, and it’s enough to get his mouth fucking _watering_ ,

Which is a good thing, too, because then -

“The word, sweet thing,”

“Selkiemore,” Jaskier answers obediently, and Geralt burrs out a sound of praise that has Jaskier’s skin pebbling with gooseflesh,

And then -

It’s a damn good thing his mouth’s watering, _because_ ,

Then Geralt is sliding a hand into his hair, 

And he guides Jaskier down to his cock with such tenderness it has his gut coiling up tighter than ever,

And Geralt never really _asks_ for things like this - is more than happy to do it without being asked, as well - so when he manages to silently ask for what he wants, Jaskier throws himself into sucking him off like it’s his _one divine duty_ , like it’s the _reason_ for which he was given a tongue _at-fucking-all,_

And this time?

This time is _no fucking exception,_

So he lets it get as fucking _sloppy_ as he knows Geralt _wants_ ,

Lets drool run down his chin as he sucks Geralt off on all fours,

 _All_ wrapped up in _paper-thin_ golden _satin_ ,

As the Witcher’s eyes burn _black_ ,

As Geralt slides his hands through Jaskier’s hair and holds his hips so, _so_ still, so _endearingly_ still, as he _moans_ with enough force Jaskier feels it shake the bed,

And Jaskier laves his tongue up the thick vein on the underside of the Witcher’s dick as he looks up through his lashes, as he pulls back just enough to catch the next spurt of pre on the tip of his tongue,

And Geralt’s nose furls as he bares his teeth, and Jaskier feels like the wild thing when the Witcher runs a hand under his own cock and then thumbs over the corner of Jaskier’s mouth,

As he burrs, “head down, ass up,” and,

Jaskier lets out a punching breath as he obeys, and Geralt’s knuckles dust over the back of one shoulder as a reward, trail down the arch of Jaskier’s back until he’s grabbing the globe of his ass, and the satin - the satin _barely_ fucking covers most of his ass, curves in a half-moon so close to the cleft it’s basically a thong,

And Geralt burrs again as he bows over Jaskier and kisses over his muscle, as he slides a hand around to cup his cock through the satin of his panties, thumb finding the aching head immediately, and Jaskier _whimpers_ , strains down into Geralt’s touch - but then it’s _gone_ , and Jaskier curses as he drops his head to the blankets,

As Geralt moves to dig for lube in the nightstand,

“ _Daddy_ ,” Jaskier groans, stretching out like a cat as he rubs his cheek over the blankets, “come _back_ ,”

“ _Right_ here, sweet thing, hush,”

“That’s the _last_ thing you want,”

“Hm,” and then there are hands on his hips, a cock nestled in the cleft of his ass, and Jaskier moans, moans and pushes back into Geralt, as -

 _“Look_ at me, Jaskier,” but - “no, sweet thing. The mirror,” and,

Jaskier lifts his head,

Meets his own gaze in the mirror until Geralt squeezes his hip in a gentle command,

And then he’s meeting those ink-dark eyes instead as Geralt drinks in the sight of him, bent over in bed like a bitch in heat with his ass in the air, shoulders bowed in _submission_ ,

“ _Beautiful_ ,” the Witcher murmurs, and he works the golden panties aside _just enough_ to dust slick fingertips over Jaskier’s clenching entrance, and Jaskier lets out a grating, “ _huh_ ,” as Geralt slides his cock over him, as he probes at his ass with the blunt, _glistening_ head,

And Jaskier’s thighs are quivering _already_ as Geralt _teases_ him, as he _taunts_ him with his cock, as he thumbs over his perineum and ghosts his fingertips over Jaskier’s _tight_ , captured sac,

But he won’t -

He won’t touch him, not yet, and Jaskier knows it, knows that Geralt won’t touch him until he’s begging proper for it, but Jaskier knows Geralt knows that Jaskier won’t be begging until he’s being fucked within an inch of his goddamn life,

And,

Jaskier’s cheeks burn as the cap of the lube pops,

As Geralt hums a gentle, “keep those eyes on me, sweet thing,” and -

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jaskier moans, all chest, all throat, as Geralt buries two fingers in him to the last knuckle,

And the Witcher curls them immediately, doesn’t give Jaskier a chance to fucking breathe before he’s stroking over his prostate with almost wickedly cruel precision,

As he grips Jaskier’s hip so hard it’ll _bruise_ , and,

Jaskier’s the kind of hard he knows means he’ll cum just from _this_ , will cum without Geralt having to lay a _finger_ on him, 

Because Geralt’s eyes are _pitch fucking black_ as he works Jaskier open, and he looks just this side of _feral_ as his nose _furls_ , as he scents the air like a fucking _wolf_ when Jaskier starts to steadily _bleed_ pre,

And Jaskier meets Geralt’s gaze with a hint of _desperation_ now as the Witcher fingers him, as he works him open slow and easy, as he worries at Jaskier’s prostate until the Siren _can’t fucking catch his breath,_ until Jaskier’s skin is _glimmering_ like the satin he’s wrapped in,

Until -

“ _Daddy_ , oh, _fuck_ ,” and,

 _“Please,_ daddy, _oh, oh,_ you feel _so_ -” and,

“Need your _cock_ , daddy, need to _feel you_ , need to _really_ feel you, _please_ , daddy, _please_ , I’ve been _so_ good,” 

And,

“ _Shh_ ,” Geralt burrs soothingly, and Jaskier’s _aching_ spine _settles_ somewhat with it, even as his dick _pulses_ and _strains_ , “I’ve got you, little lark, I’ve always got you,” and,

“You smell _so_ fucking good, sweet thing,” and,

“You smell like mine,” 

Which,

“I _am_ , daddy,” Jaskier groans, hands curling into the sheets as Geralt withdraws his fingers, and he’s - he’s so fucking empty, so suddenly, and the whine that comes almost sounds like a pathetic little sob,

A sob that turns into a gasp when Geralt nudges at his loosened hole with the head of his cock, 

When the Witcher commands softly, “say it, sweet thing, say what you are,” 

And,

“I’m _yours_ ,” Jaskier says immediately, breathlessly, achingly, and his eyes sting as Geralt tilts his head, as he sweeps gentle knuckles over the satin-painted arch of Jaskier’s back, “daddy, I’m _yours_ , only yours, _always_ been yours, right from the start,” 

And it’s - Gods, it’s true,

It’s so fucking true,

And the entire fucking world knows it,

Because all Jaskier’s written about since _Geralt of fucking Rivia_ blazed into his life when he was nineteen,

 _Is_ Geralt of fucking Rivia, 

And,

Jaskier’s throat _tightens_ as Geralt’s expression goes impossibly _soft_ ,

As the Witcher bows over him, and Jaskier _shakes_ , a bit, as Geralt slides his hand over the front of his neck and kisses over his ear, as he breathes, “ _I love you_ ,” and,

“I’ve _got_ you,” and,

“ _Look_ at me, Jaskier,” but,

“Not in the mirror, sweet thing, look at _me_ ,” and,

Jaskier _does_ ,

Bends just enough to meet those dark eyes,

The dark eyes that gleam _so_ bright,

And,

Geralt starts to push into him as he mouths over Jaskier’s cheekbone, as he cradles the front of the Siren’s throat, and he must _feel_ the aching moan that rolls through it as he sinks hilt-deep into Jaskier, as he buries himself _right_ where he fucking _belongs_ ,

And Jaskier breathes out a faint, _keening_ , “I _love_ you,” as Geralt starts to fuck into him, as the Witcher burrs his name and cups his jaw with one hand, and he’s fucking into Jaskier the way that’ll narrow Jaskier’s world _down_ , the way he knows _Geralt_ knows he _needs_ ,

 _Especially_ after he’s been terrified out of his skin by ‘ _sir, there’s been an incident_ ,’ and,

The _only_ place Jaskier wants to exist in right now is the space where Geralt is _all_ he knows, _so_ ,

He goes _pliant_ beneath the Witcher,

Tucks his chin into Geralt’s palm, mouths at his thumb until he’s taking it between his teeth,

And _Geralt -_

Geralt knows what he needs,

So he presses down against Jaskier,

Cages him in,

Uses his weight to pin Jaskier in place,

Until Jaskier’s world becomes;

The way Geralt’s cock _fills_ him, fills him _so_ well he feels him in his _throat_ ,

The way Geralt’s breath feels as it gusts over his nape,

The way Geralt’s palm tastes under his tongue, and,

Jaskier sinks into paradise as Geralt slides a hand into his hair,

As he pulls _so_ gently, until Jaskier’s eyes flicker up, following the tension of the fingers tangled through his chestnut locks,

And he meets his own gaze in the mirror across from the end of their bed as Geralt slowly rears back, as the Witcher burrs, “keep your eyes on me, little lark,” and,

Jaskier whimpers, as,

Geralt lets go of his hair, and,

He grips Jaskier’s hips tight enough they’ll bruise, as,

The Witcher starts to fuck him _proper_ ,

And,

The Cat is _bleeding_ from his eyes now,

Leaving the veins a deep indigo, 

And though his sclera is still _hazy_ , golden irises still clouded in a faint smog,

Jaskier feels a _wicked_ thrill at the return of those _sunlit_ eyes,

Even as he would take them _any_ way they were,

But he’s _all_ wrapped up in gold to _match_ , and he can still remember the first time he looked up into those eyes - when Geralt had loomed over him onstage, silver sword _dripping_ in the blood of the _banshee_ that had come to try and _steal Jaskier’s voice,_

When Jaskier had been nineteen and _so_ lost,

Until he’d been _found_ ,

And,

 _These_ eyes are the eyes he’d fallen in love with, the eyes he’d fallen for the moment they set over him,

And Jaskier _whimpers_ and _whines_ , fire curling through his skin as Geralt fucks him _proper_ , the way he knows _Geralt_ knows he _needs_ , and,

“Daddy, _daddy_ , I -”

“I _know_ , sweetheart, I know,” and,

“ _Just_ like this, I know you can, you’re doing _so_ well,” and,

“You’re _so_ damn beautiful, Jaskier, _fuck_ ,” 

And,

Jaskier _trembles_ with the praise, trembles and _keens_ , writhes and _drools_ , a bit, as Geralt bares his teeth and grips his hips, as he meets his own gaze in the mirror, _and it’s_ \- it’s _beyond_ obscene, the way the Witcher _watches himself_ fuck into Jaskier the way he knows Jaskier needs,

And his chest is _gleaming_ with sweat, throat _dripping_ with it, muscles rolling beneath his scarred skin as it _glistens_ and _shines_ , 

And the satin wrapped around Jaskier clings to him, now, as salt drips down his temples, settles in the valley of his spine, and he’s _burning_ , cock _weeping_ and _hurting_ so _bad_ between his thighs, _until -_

Until _Geralt starts_ \- starts fucking _talking_ , 

Says shit like;

“I can _smell_ you, Jaskier,” and,

“I can smell how _close_ you are, how much you _need_ it,” and,

“You taste _so_ sweet, little lark, I can’t wait to have you on my tongue, _fuck_ ,” and,

Then Geralt’s _bowing_ over him,

And he’s fucking into Jaskier like a damn _animal_ in _rut_ ,

As he puts his lips to Jaskier’s nape,

As he breathes, “give daddy what he _wants_ , Jaskier,” and,

That’s _all it takes,_

Just,

 _That_ word,

Rolling off of _Geralt’s_ tongue,

That’s all it fucking takes to get Jaskier to cum without even having a fucking _finger_ on him,

And he cums with a ragged _shout_ as Geralt _burrs_ and _hums_ with praise, as he _growls_ against Jaskier’s spine and quickens his thrusts, fucks the Siren through the orgasm until his vision is blacking out, until his head’s fucking _spinning_ and his thighs _give out,_

But even as Jaskier starts to _collapse_ , Geralt _catches him_ , catches him and keeps him _right_ where he wants him as he ruts into the _tight_ , wet clutch of Jaskier’s exhausted body,

And it’s _beyond_ divine, to be _used_ by Geralt,

To be _held_ and _kept_ ,

_To be -_

“Fill me, daddy,” Jaskier moans, and he’s almost _frantic_ with it, frantic with the _need_ to be packed up with the mark of the Witcher’s possession; Geralt grunts out a mangled, “ _fuck_ , Jaskier,” when he says it, and Jaskier _whines_ greedily when the Witcher ruts _hard_ into him, hard enough he _lurches_ with it, a bit,

“ _Please_ ,” Jaskier manages, “ _please_ , daddy, _please_ , like that, just like that,”

And,

“Jaskier -”

“Like that, fuck me _hard_ , daddy, fuck me until I can’t - _oh, oh, fuck_ -”

And it’s -

Only been like this a few times,

_But,_

It’s _always_ when Jaskier’s been terrified out of his _skin,_

So that’s _always_ when Geralt needs to make sure Jaskier’s body remembers that he’s _still fucking here,_

That the Witcher is _alive_ , isn’t fucking going _anywhere_ , and,

He _feels_ it when Geralt cums, when he packs Jaskier with proof of _life_ ,

And the Witcher _growls_ out a _moan_ that has Jaskier’s hips _flexing_ , the kind of moan that has his cock _bleeding_ pre in the satin panties, 

But before he can even _beg_ ,

Geralt is sliding out of him,

And before he can _whine_ ,

Geralt is sinking down,

And before Jaskier can utter a _single coherent word,_

Geralt’s _tongue -_

“ _Oh, oh, fuck,_ ” Jaskier manages, voice splintering like brittle glass as Geralt’s tongue _curls into him_ , as Geralt _licks himself out_ of Jaskier, as he cleans him of the proof of life he’s left between his thighs,

 _And it’s_ \- it’s beyond _anything_ , really, beyond _words_ , even for Jaskier,

So when Geralt slides a clever hand up to unzip Jaskier’s panties,

When he curls his fingers around the Siren’s _cum-soaked cock_ ,

It takes about _ten seconds_ for Jaskier to paint his own stomach and chest with ropes of white, 

And Geralt _growls_ with self-satisfaction when Jaskier cums for a second time with a high, stuttering keen, 

As he traps Jaskier’s cock against his belly, as he slides his thumb over the sore head,

And Jaskier whimpers as Geralt laves his tongue up the left side of his ass,

As the Witcher rolls him, slow and careful, onto his back, and,

“The _smell_ of you,” Geralt breathes, nose sliding up the crease of Jaskier’s groin, and it’s _so_ much, is _almost_ \- almost _too_ much, _especially_ when Geralt’s tongue slides over his softening, _hurting_ cock, 

_“Daddy,_ ” Jaskier manages, voice all _tight_ , just this side of _pathetic_ , and were he in the right mindset he might find it _embarrassing_ , but then Geralt soothes him with a gentle, “I _have_ you, sweet thing, I’m _right_ here,” and,

“You did _so_ well, my love,” and,

“Breathe for me, little lark, _breathe_ , that’s it,” and,

Jaskier does, chest _hitching_ as Geralt starts to clean him with his tongue, as the Witcher’s clever fingers start to peel him out of the glittering golden lingerie meant to match Geralt’s eyes,

And Jaskier _drifts_ as Geralt licks him clean, as he peels him bare, until finally Geralt’s unwinding the corset from about his waist, and Jaskier’s arms are _so fucking tired_ but they’re immediately sliding around the Witcher’s neck when Geralt prowls over him, dropping kisses as he goes, and Jaskier curls into him when Geralt starts to kiss up the side of his throat,

“I’ve got you,” Geralt murmurs, one hand cupping the back of Jaskier’s head, “you did _so_ well, you did _so well_ ,” and,

He’s _hard_ still, all nestled up against Jaskier’s hip,

Which, just, _won’t do,_

So,

“Come _back_ ,” Jaskier says against Geralt’s cheekbone, and the Witcher makes a questioning sound before Jaskier parts his thighs and lifts his hips, fingertips lighting on Geralt’s cock, “ _stay_ ,” 

“ _Jaskier_ -”

“Daddy, _please_ ,” and,

It’s the _whine_ that does it, Jaskier thinks,

Because then Geralt’s reaching for the lube,

And Jaskier dares look up at those sunlit eyes, back to their normal golden glow, as Geralt sinks so carefully back into him,

And it’s -

_Gods,_

It’s _overwhelming_ ,

And Jaskier’s tearing up before he _knows_ it,

As Geralt thumbs over his cheekbone and hushes him so softly,

And the Witcher settles back between Jaskier’s thighs, just, _stays_ there, as Jaskier curls up against his chest, as he noses up under Geralt’s jaw and splays a _protective_ , possessive hand over the shallow wound on his chest,

As he whispers, “I can’t _lose you_ ,” 

But,

“Not even death could take me from you,” the Witcher murmurs as he kisses over Jaskier’s cheek, as he nuzzles at his temple, as he starts to coax Jaskier back out of the place where all he knows is _Geralt_ , “hold onto me, Jaskier, that’s it,”

“Always will,”

“Then you’ve got nothing to be afraid of,”

“Oh?”

“ _Mm_ ,” Geralt burrs, and Jaskier can feel himself settling back into his own bones, because _the thing is_ \- even _when_ he’s in that place where all he knows is _Geralt_ , 

He knows when he comes back _out_ , Geralt will be _right_ there,

And that’s the thing -

_Is,_

Jaskier _always_ exists in a world where Geralt is _there_ ,

Always _will be,_

Because -

“I would tear _Hell_ apart to come back,” the Witcher states, sounding love-drunk, fucked-out, utterly absorbed in Jaskier and Jaskier alone as his hips start to roll, as he mouths over the Siren’s jaw, “so long as I had you,”

“You’ll _always_ \- have me,” Jaskier says, voice breaking as Geralt starts to pump into him, careful and slow, and it feels so fucking _divine_ , burns so sweet and so fine, “I _love_ you, I’ve _always_ loved you,”

And,

“You are the _heart_ of me,” Geralt says, and Jaskier is emerging from the fog as the Witcher coaxes new fire through his fucked-out body with every roll of his hips, with every stroke of his hand, “spent a hundred fucking years hating this life, and then came _you_ ,” and,

“I’d do it all again, take it all over,” and,

“So long as I got _you_ ,” 

Which,

Has Jaskier tearing up _proper_ ,

As he wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist, as he _clings_ to the Witcher with all his strength and seals their mouths together, tasting the elixir of the both of them on that _sweet_ tongue, 

As Geralt chases _fire_ through his saltwater skin,

And their flat is in _ruins_ around them,

But their bed is _safe_ , is the haven it’s only ever been,

And Geralt is _whole_ ,

 _All_ because Jaskier holds his _steel-veined_ heart between his seaborn hands, _and_ ,

Their flat is in _ruins_ ,

But _this is the life,_

And Jaskier knows they _both_ would suffer a _thousand_ years of loneliness,

If only for one more moment of _this,_


End file.
